middle-aged man in a dressing gown! Mac and Smitty and Nellie would kid him for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, he’d have to yell for aid—
“Wonder if you have any more weapons on you,” Jessica said, as he halted in the wine-cellar doorway.
With the gun trembling against his neck, Cole didn’t dare do more than breathe gently. The girl’s calm hand touched the hard small shield made by the radio.
“I don’t know what this is,” she said evenly, “but I’ll take no chances.”
“It’s nothing to hurt anybody,” said Cole, beginning to sweat. “It’s perfectly harmless—”
“Maybe so. Take it off and pass it back to me.”
“Now look here—”
The gun prodded harder. Cole felt the girl’s whole hand trembling from the strain of the moment. One tremble can twitch a trigger; and a man experienced with firearms is more terrified by an amateur’s trembling fingers than the steady hand of a veteran.
He dragged out the little radio. It was taken from his grudging hand. Then the door was slammed solidly on him, and he was alone with a lot of wine bottles and some very bitter and helpless thoughts.
“Gee, she’s a honey, though,” he said after a minute. “She has almost as much nerve as she has good looks. Which is quite some.”
Then he dismissed the thought of the girl and concentrated on trying to get out of his embarrassing predicament.
It was shortly to become a lot more than embarrassing.
At two o’clock in the afternoon Jessica Marsden brought Cole a tray of food, deftly balanced on her left hand, while she carried the gun in her right.
“It’s about time you fed a guy,” Cole grumbled. Then he grinned. He had a nice grin and knew it. He was handsome and knew that, too.
Neither did him any good.
“You’re lucky to get any food at all,” the girl said coldly. “I’m the cook, right now, and I don’t like to work for cutthroats.”
She started out, backing, her gun making a leap impossible on Cole’s part.
“Wait a minute, Miss Marsden. What’s your hurry? It’s lonesome down here.”
“That’s too bad.” Jessica started to shut the door.
“How long are you going to keep me here?”
“As long as your rotten crew molests my father,” she said stonily. “Months, if necessary. Though I hope not. We don’t like you.”
“I’ll get prison fever down here,” Cole complained. “These cold, damp concrete walls—”
She didn’t follow his gesture to the walls with her eyes. If she had, he would have risked a jump for the gun. The walls, incidentally, were quite dry and warm.
“Phone Richard Benson,” pleaded Cole. “That isn’t much to ask, is it? About two minutes could check my story that I work for The Avenger.”
Jess Marsden was silent a moment. Then she reluctantly admitted, “We did phone Mr. Benson. There was no answer.”
“Try him again and— What are you looking at?”
Her eyes snapped back to him. She’d been looking over his shoulder—which was still too much in his direction for him to try a break—and her face had lost some color.
Cole turned to look, too. The tiny barred window was behind him. He looked through the thick glass panes and saw what she had seen.
The legs of men on the lawn outside!
There were a lot of legs. Cole sorted them into eleven pairs. One pair was so thick they looked like twin tree trunks. A very heavy man owned those.
Jessica gasped and started to slam the door.
“So your friends have come,” she said angrily.
“They’re not my friends. Believe me!” Cole was beside himself with impatience at the thought of being cooped up here when trouble threatened.
“There are nearly a dozen men out there,” he snapped. “Don’t be a little dope, you little dope. Let me out of here. I’ll help you.”
“Sure! You’ll help us—by pulling dirty work from the inside while they attack from the outside.”
The door clicked shut. He sprang to it; put his ear to it. He could barely hear her quick
“Wonder if you have any more weapons on you,” Jessica said, as he halted in the wine-cellar doorway.
With the gun trembling against his neck, Cole didn’t dare do more than breathe gently. The girl’s calm hand touched the hard small shield made by the radio.
“I don’t know what this is,” she said evenly, “but I’ll take no chances.”
“It’s nothing to hurt anybody,” said Cole, beginning to sweat. “It’s perfectly harmless—”
“Maybe so. Take it off and pass it back to me.”
“Now look here—”
The gun prodded harder. Cole felt the girl’s whole hand trembling from the strain of the moment. One tremble can twitch a trigger; and a man experienced with firearms is more terrified by an amateur’s trembling fingers than the steady hand of a veteran.
He dragged out the little radio. It was taken from his grudging hand. Then the door was slammed solidly on him, and he was alone with a lot of wine bottles and some very bitter and helpless thoughts.
“Gee, she’s a honey, though,” he said after a minute. “She has almost as much nerve as she has good looks. Which is quite some.”
Then he dismissed the thought of the girl and concentrated on trying to get out of his embarrassing predicament.
It was shortly to become a lot more than embarrassing.
At two o’clock in the afternoon Jessica Marsden brought Cole a tray of food, deftly balanced on her left hand, while she carried the gun in her right.
“It’s about time you fed a guy,” Cole grumbled. Then he grinned. He had a nice grin and knew it. He was handsome and knew that, too.
Neither did him any good.
“You’re lucky to get any food at all,” the girl said coldly. “I’m the cook, right now, and I don’t like to work for cutthroats.”
She started out, backing, her gun making a leap impossible on Cole’s part.
“Wait a minute, Miss Marsden. What’s your hurry? It’s lonesome down here.”
“That’s too bad.” Jessica started to shut the door.
“How long are you going to keep me here?”
“As long as your rotten crew molests my father,” she said stonily. “Months, if necessary. Though I hope not. We don’t like you.”
“I’ll get prison fever down here,” Cole complained. “These cold, damp concrete walls—”
She didn’t follow his gesture to the walls with her eyes. If she had, he would have risked a jump for the gun. The walls, incidentally, were quite dry and warm.
“Phone Richard Benson,” pleaded Cole. “That isn’t much to ask, is it? About two minutes could check my story that I work for The Avenger.”
Jess Marsden was silent a moment. Then she reluctantly admitted, “We did phone Mr. Benson. There was no answer.”
“Try him again and— What are you looking at?”
Her eyes snapped back to him. She’d been looking over his shoulder—which was still too much in his direction for him to try a break—and her face had lost some color.
Cole turned to look, too. The tiny barred window was behind him. He looked through the thick glass panes and saw what she had seen.
The legs of men on the lawn outside!
There were a lot of legs. Cole sorted them into eleven pairs. One pair was so thick they looked like twin tree trunks. A very heavy man owned those.
Jessica gasped and started to slam the door.
“So your friends have come,” she said angrily.
“They’re not my friends. Believe me!” Cole was beside himself with impatience at the thought of being cooped up here when trouble threatened.
“There are nearly a dozen men out there,” he snapped. “Don’t be a little dope, you little dope. Let me out of here. I’ll help you.”
“Sure! You’ll help us—by pulling dirty work from the inside while they attack from the outside.”
The door clicked shut. He sprang to it; put his ear to it. He could barely hear her quick
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